


looking for you in the space between the stars

by intergaylactic



Series: each soul a universe (an infinity war & endgame au) [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, also i'm bringing back the nova corps bc i can't believe mr feige killed them all off screen, anyway pls enjoy this is a time for bad jokes and space adventures, i'm glad that's a tag bc they are friends your honour, nebula and rocket have such similar issues that i needed them to bond more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26989306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergaylactic/pseuds/intergaylactic
Summary: “A Ravager, a Nova Corps officer, and an assassin walk into a bar . . .”“We aren’t in a bar,” Nebula said, though her mouth twitched against her better judgement. She knew Rocket would spot any shred of amusement and cling to it, and they could not afford to have him ruining this diplomatic meeting with another awful joke. “And you forgot the cybernetic raccoon.”“And the Terran woman who swallowed a jet engine,” Rocket added.
Relationships: Carol Danvers & Nebula, Nebula & Rocket Raccoon, Nebula & Rocket Raccoon & Carol Danvers, Rocket Raccoon & Carol Danvers
Series: each soul a universe (an infinity war & endgame au) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910224
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	looking for you in the space between the stars

When Nebula came to, the world around her was very loud and very dark. 

The disorientation did not help her panic. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious. Her limbs were crushed to her sides, her legs distorted and pinned against cold stone. She struggled to move, to free herself, but she did not know what kind of a world she would emerge into. All she could see was Thanos, his grim face, the cliffs of Vormir, Gamora’s wide eyes as she fell. 

_Gamora_ . Nebula tugged harder at the rock holding her back, determined to escape. There was no doubt in her mind what had to happen next: she had to get out, and had to get to Thanos. She owed her sister that attempt at vengeance. She could almost hear Gamora in her head, see the roll of her eyes as she reminded Nebula that “Revenge isn’t the _only_ answer, you know.” Nebula screamed wordlessly into stone; she hoped, perhaps naively, that it could be felt throughout Vormir. Damn revenge; she wanted justice. She wanted to make tremors - she wanted to burn worlds. 

The tiny panel in her wrist blinked, and Nebula twitched her arm to try and do something so stupid that even the small raccoon might not agree to it (instantly, anyway.) The panel ignited, then burst, and Nebula bit down a scream as it singed her flesh. But it had worked: the blast, tiny as it was, had blown a hole in the rock around her, weakening it. Even something that small was not worthless. 

Nebula kicked her way out of Vormir’s crust, already searching for her father. 

Instead, she was met with an empty cliffside. Yelling and blasting issued from somewhere in the distance, though it had sounded deafening in the stone coffin Thanos had constructed for her. Nebula whirled around, unsheathing the spare dagger at her side. It was not a useful weapon, but it would be enough. If she could get close enough, she knew of a heart to plunge it into. 

Heavy, fast footsteps fell nearby, and Nebula ducked neatly behind the edifice she had been pinned to. Her dagger clutched tightly in her hand, she pressed her ruined wrist between her knees; it stung, but the pressure helped slightly. She waited with bated breath, watching the shadows of two figures rise as they approached the cliffside. 

Proxima Midnight and Corvus Glaive emerged from those shadows, and Nebula for a moment believed herself to be dead. 

What were Proxima and Corvus doing on Vormir? 

“I do not wish to do this,” Proxima said, her voice raspy as it danced on the wind. Something about this moment felt private, and Nebula sank deeper into the protection of her once-tomb. “But I fear we have no choice.” 

“I . . .” Corvus trailed off. Nebula watched as he slowly, deliberately placed one hand on Proxima’s cheek. Nebula had never seen either of them so alone together, and the look shared between them made her a bit dizzy. She had known they were husband and wife, but that . . . imagining any of the Black Order as affectionate, or anything resembling it, was flooring. She could only watch in fascination and vague disgust. 

She knew these two. It was the Black Order that had taken her to Thanos so many years ago. She had been just a child then, small and unassuming, daughter to no one important on a planet no one thought to look twice at. But Thanos had looked twice. It was mostly uninhabited, desolate tundra with a few outposts established for trading. Nebula could almost remember her parents being traders in the energy business, but she could never be sure. Once her memories had become files, erasable, Thanos had taken it upon himself to interfere with what she knew. What Nebula knew of her previous home was more the shadow of a memory, something to cling to like the phantom taste in the air before a storm; she may have invented the whole thing in her head as a child. Regardless, Proxima Midnight and Corvus Glaive had kidnapped her when they attacked the trading post, stealing her away to Thanos’ ship, imprisoning her with the other candidates for the position as his next child. Nebula could still recall the distinct ring of Proxima’s spear slicing through the air as it cut down civilians in the street, its power a sound all its own. 

Now, however, Proxima looked less the imposing warrior of Nebula’s childhood, and more the bearer of terrible news. Her face was drawn and pinched, and she rested a palm over Corvus’ on her cheek, holding it there before drawing it away. 

“There’s nothing else,” she said, again so softly. These were words for a lover, not for a spy; Nebula quickly cast away the instinctive shame. “I never wanted it to come to this.”

“But we knew it would,” Corvus continued, nodding. His shoulders slumped from an invisible burden, and he let his hand drop to his side. “I am sorry, too.” 

“If his little _pet_ loved him the way we do . . .” Proxima said bitterly, and Corvus only shook his head. “Promise me you will take care of her when I’m gone. I want those little parasites _dead_.” 

Corvus had frozen, staring down at Proxima with narrowed eyes. “Take care of them yourself. This is not your sacrifice to make, my love.”

Nebula’s head was spinning trying to make sense of the conversation. They were definitely talking about Thanos - for those in the Black Order, especially Proxima and Corvus, there could be no one else. But his _pet_? Parasites? The only people that could be . . . The answer taking its hideous, tantalizing shape in the back of her mind made Nebula feel a little sick, dread pitting her stomach. 

“I think I’ll decide that,” Proxima snapped, though her hands laced with her husband’s, gripping tightly. “My _darling_.” Leave it to Proxima Midnight to find a way to make pet names sound like poison on her tongue. 

“I will not allow you -”

“I will take that foolish child’s place of honour,” Proxima hissed. She took a slow step backwards, towards the cliff’s edge. “If she will not give herself up to him.” 

_Foolish child. Will not give herself up . . ._

Gamora’s face flashed once more through Nebula’s mind, her mouth open to scream before she tipped out of sight, plummeting so far, all alone . . .

Nebula was not thinking when she sprinted for the cliffside. She did not hear the shouts of Thanos’ generals, did not take heed of their threats, did not think of how she would avoid being tossed over herself. All she could see was her sister’s face, illuminated against the perpetual sunset of Vormir’s sky. Calling for her, or so Nebula thought. 

Her hands and knees scraped against rough stone as she leaned over the cliffside, peering down, down, down. The height of it twisted her stomach for a moment, but the longer she stared, the more certain she was: there was no body at the bottom of the cliffs of Vormir. The Soul Stone’s altar was clean of blood. 

Gamora was not down there. 

“Proxima!” 

The shout startled Nebula so badly she almost lost her balance, but managed to stay on solid ground as she, Proxima and Corvus all whipped around to stare back down the pathway. 

A few figures came sprinting into sight, and Nebula recognized the raccoon, but did not recognize the young boy in the skin-tight red armour, or the tall, dark-haired man in the red cape. Nebula wondered if perhaps they were part of a team, what with the colour coordination. 

“Vermin,” Proxima spit at them, though Nebula did not think she was only talking to the raccoon. 

The raccoon laughed, hard and bitter as he always seemed to, and aimed his blaster at her. “Right, right, okay. You’re gonna die for that.” 

“Not over the cliff!” The young boy said, panicked, then covered his mouth. “Oh shit, they know we know, sorry!” 

“It’s fine,” the tall man said gruffly, waving off the boy’s apology. 

_Not over the cliff_. Why would they need to stop Proxima from going over the cliff? It was not as though -

“You cannot stop him,” Proxima said, her hands clenched at her sides. She wore an arrogant smirk, but Nebula had seen the way her mouth crumpled when looking at Corvus; Proxima Midnight was afraid. 

“I beg to differ,” the caped man said; twin rings of sparking amber energy spun around his raised palms, and Nebula watched as he leaned to touch the ground. Vormir’s surface rippled, like a carpet being tugged, and began to yank Proxima and Corvus off their feet and towards the trio. 

The young boy leapt forward, his agility startling. He landed next to Corvus and pinned him onto the now-solid ground by his arms, knocking Corvus’ weapon from his hand. The caped man flicked his wrist and a jet of bright amber energy encircled Proxima, yanking her towards him. She struggled against her bonds, but they only seemed to tighten as she did so. 

Nebula leapt to her feet and the raccoon met her eyes through the sudden burst of chaos. He frowned, or frowned as much as a creature of his kind could.

“Nebula?” 

The caped man and young boy both looked at her then, too, and the raccoon had to shake his head at the former when he moved to trapped Nebula in the same bonds as Proxima. 

“No, no, she’s - that’s Gamora’s sister,” he explained, then looked to Nebula. “Sorry, our bad. Thought you were dead. Also, shit got intense real fast. Uh, wizard and spider-boy, Nebula. Nebula, wizard and spider-boy.”

“Spider-man,” the spider-boy said, almost in a whine.

It happened so quickly, Nebula hardly knew what she was watching; the vision in her left eye rewound and replayed, and she saw as Corvus moved, lightning-fast, and unsheathed a dagger near his thigh. He slashed upwards, and the young boy jumped back just quickly enough that the blade only grazed him, slashing open the sleeve of his suit. 

Corvus threw the blade, and it sank into the wizard’s shoulder. He yelled, and clasped a hand to the wound. The bonds around Proxima dissolved, and she and Corvus both turned to the cliffside. Nebula stood between them and it, and she held her own dagger like a lifeline. 

“If one of them goes over, they get the Stone!” The raccoon yelled, still holding his blaster as if it could help anyone right then. 

Nebula wanted to scream a thousand questions back at him, beginning with where Gamora was and why Thanos needed anyone else to die for him. Had he brought her body back up, to bury her in his weak facsimile of mourning? The idea of him touching her sister’s corpse made Nebula’s breaths come in sharp, furious gasps. 

“Proxima,” she said instead, her eyes locking with the general’s. Proxima glared back, and Nebula remembered a time when she would have cowered under that gaze. Now, though? All she felt was anger. 

“Parasite,” Proxima sneered. “Stand aside. Do your duty well, for once in your miserable life.” 

“You cannot mean to give him the Stone,” Nebula said through gritted teeth. “He has killed people he knows he - he can _never_ replace. You think he will honour anyone who brings it to him? You think he _cares_ about either of you? That he will mourn your sacrifice?” 

“Mourning?” Corvus hissed. He was now unarmed, his knife in the wizard’s bloody hands, but still struck an imposing figure. “Ever the self-centered child, Nebula. Who needs _mourning_ when you have died for the truest cause the galaxy has ever seen? Who needs honour after death, when your death itself was an honour?” 

_Gamora, dropping over the cliffside, reaching for her sister, Thanos’ determination clear on his face._

Nebula saw red. When she attacked, she did so with a cry that tore itself from where it had lodged in her chest. If Corvus Glaive was going to call her sister’s murder an _honour_ , he was going to pay for it with an honourable death of his own. 

“He killed my sister!” She swiped at him, and though he moved to side-step it, the tip of her blade clawed along his chest, leaving an angry red slash. “He has killed his own generals before - Infesti! You remember the way he slaughtered his own slaughterers, made you all watch!”

Nebula’s dagger met a metal armguard with a resounding clang. “How dare you invoke Infesti,” Proxima spat directly in her face, before shoving her backwards. “You worthless, spineless child!” 

“Thanos was willing to kill any of you, and you saw him do it,” Nebula pressed on. “I, at least, remember.” 

And Nebula did remember Infesti Macera. 

_Nebula, small and frightened and wholly herself, curled further into the corner of their cell. Gamora was outside, arguing with Thanos. Why did she argue? Why did she provoke his rage?_

_Infesti, the meanest of the Black Order, collapsed to the floor; Nebula could see the blade spearing his gut if she peeked out of the shadows. As she caught Gamora’s eye through the bars of the cell, she reeled back, pressing herself as tightly against the wall as she could. She would not be seen, she would not be seen . . ._

“We remember the sacrifices that have been made - that the likes of _you_ could never understand,” Proxima said.

Their movements were quick, precise, practiced. Nebula, for a split second, imagined herself back under Thanos’ tutelage, training with the other members of the Black Order. She sent a hard kick to Proxima’s gut, and the woman tumbled backwards into her husband, who caught her beneath the arms. 

Corvus deftly swung Proxima around, as they had likely done in training a thousand times. Nebula hardly saw the kick coming, but still rolled with the impact as Proxima’s legs struck her side. She narrowly avoided toppling off the cliffside herself, and scrabbled for purchase on the rock. 

Bands of thick amber energy began to snake around Proxima’s legs, holding her in place, and hurried towards Corvus. 

Nebula watched, dumbstruck, as Proxima grabbed her husband’s face and tugged him down to her, kissed him hard and furious and fast. She could not help noticing that they kissed like a practiced move in an arena, just another way to strike. 

“I give you this chance at honour,” Proxima said softly, and then pushed Corvus off the cliffside. 

Nebula reached, but it was no use. Just as the wizard’s bonds began hauling Proxima backwards towards him and the spider-boy, Corvus Glaive plummeted off the cliffs of Vormir, never looking away from his wife’s face until they were too far apart to see one another. Proxima’s face had that odd, crumpled look to it once more, as she was dragged backwards. 

Then Proxima screamed. 

“What the -?” But whatever curse the raccoon was about to use was drowned out by the air all around them erupting into painful amber light, crackling like electricity. It became suddenly difficult to breathe as Nebula and the other three were swept up into the sudden storm brewing on the cliffside, wrapping them up in its wicked embrace. At the eye of it, still laying on the ground, Proxima Midnight’s skin burned with the power of the Soul Stone. 

It was over almost as soon as it had begun: one moment, Proxima was shrieking as she clutched the Infinity Stone, her body ruined by its power; the next, the Stone was safely in the clutches of a small, familiar orb, and Proxima was rolling unsteadily to her feet and sprinting away. 

Nebula looked up at the wizard, who was also slowly peeling himself off the ground where the Soul Stone’s power had deposited them. He nodded once, and they were off and running after her. 

The Black Order had the Soul Stone.

* * *

  
  


The endless void of the cosmos was certainly a place Nebula had thought she might die, but she had not expected to do it with a raccoon and a strange man from Earth. She absolutely had not expected to do it while learning to play “paper football.” 

Nebula, as it turned out, was pretty good at paper football. 

Tony, his face more drawn and haggard by the day, sat across from her with the same expression of faux-intensity that he always had during these games. He had taught her the rules to the game within the first two days of them being stranded on the Milano, and she was beginning to think he was not the sort of person used to spending stretches of time doing nothing. Tony Stark did not like to wait patiently for other people. 

(She had also figured this out from the way he had started reorganizing their ration supply on day three of their now-twenty-two day voyage. His quest for productive tasks had not lasted him long.) 

She gave the small paper triangle a careful flick with her fingers, her aim still feeling a bit wonky. Her wrist was still heavily injured from the blast to its circuitry that she had given it on Vormir, but Rocket had taken to tinkering with it as the days stretched on around them. Though Nebula had been reluctant to let him touch it too much at first, she had eventually given in and started answering his questions and allowing him to make adjustments as needed. For his part, Rocket had become careful not to do unintentional damage; during his second tinkering session, he had accidentally switched on the mechanism that detached Nebula’s arm from its socket. 

_“Why the fuck do you_ have _that option?!” Rocket shouted, frantically fiddling away with the wiring now hanging loose out of Nebula’s forearm._

_She groaned into her other fist, swore, then lowered her hand to glare at him. “Thanos installed it for ease of access.”_

_Rocket looked at her long and hard as the arm slid back into place, before turning back to her wrist and reconnecting a few wires to her finger joints, allowing her to flex her hand again. He did not say another word until they divided up that day’s ration portions._

The two of them, enhanced as they were and marginally less injured than Tony, watched as he slowly began to succumb to the limitations of the semi-ruined Milano’s capacity to maintain life. Nebula had started giving him her share of the rations, knowing that she could handle a bit of hunger, rely more heavily on her other energy stores. But those measly additions to his resources were not going to save Tony. 

“You know we’re gonna get out of here, right?” Rocket asked as he sidled up to the table. 

Tony did not look at him, and instead focused on the game with Nebula. He lined up the shot for her again, and smiled grimly. “Yeah, okay.”

“You just - don’t worry about saying goodbyes, alright? We’ve been in worse scrapes out here -” Rocket flicked a gesture between himself and Nebula, who frowned, “- and we’re still here.”

“You also have cybernetic enhancements,” Tony replied, still keeping his eyes on the paper football. Nebula readied herself for her next attempt; she decided to use her enhanced eye to aim. Normally this would have been considered cheating, but she thought it balanced out the unfair disadvantage her ruined wrist was giving her. 

“Yeah, don’t you?”

“No,” Tony scoffed. 

“Then what the hell is that?” Rocket reached out a tiny paw and tapped against Tony’s chest, where a small, tinny clang issued from the circle of metal and light just over his ribs. 

Tony flinched away from Rocket’s touch, and took a deep, steadying breath. “It’s not cybernetic. I can take it off - it’s not part of me.”

“Looks like part of you,” Rocket muttered childishly. 

“Yeah, well, it isn’t!” Tony snapped. 

Nebula gave the paper triangle a strong flick, and it soared across the table, zooming right through Tony’s positioned hands. 

“Oh look, you win!” Tony stood hastily and held out a hand to Nebula. “Good game.”

Nebula slowly took his hand, and let him shake hers for a terse moment before he turned on his heel and strode out of the common area and into the cockpit. Rocket watched him go, still frowning, and Nebula glared at him. 

“You should not upset him,” she said, trying to keep her voice down. “He is not strong enough to fight right now.” 

“If it isn’t part of him -”

“He says it is not.”

“- then why doesn’t he ever take it off?” Rocket was not keeping his voice quiet, and Nebula could have strangled the small creature. He was trying to pick a fight with Tony, which was highly inadvisable if they wanted Tony to survive the week. His wound festered, and he was still too weak to do much; even the march out of the common area must have tired him greatly. 

Nebula found Tony several hours later, still lounging in Quill’s old captain’s chair. He had a loose gear from the ship twirling between his fingers, though the movements were clumsy and stilted. Nebula approached him cautiously, but she could see the moment he noticed her footsteps by the sudden tension in his face, the stillness of the gear. 

“If you’re here to apologize, I’d rather hear the raccoon do it himself,” Tony remarked. 

“I heard that!” Rocket’s voice drifted down to them from the maintenance hatch behind the cockpit. He spent most of his time there, trying to get the Milano’s engines started again. Oftentimes, he failed; sometimes, he failed spectacularly. 

“You were meant to!” Tony shouted back. Then he looked at Nebula directly, and let the corner of his mouth drift up in a sardonic half-smile. “You here to try and tell me we’ll get out of here, too?” 

Nebula shook her head, and sat across from him. This was the seat she was certain Gamora had used, and she pressed her hands into the worn leather of it. Her sister’s ghost seemed to haunt every nook and cranny of this ship, and Nebula could not decide if it helped or harmed her ability to grieve her. 

“I wanted to say -” she paused, thought for a moment, and scowled. “I do not know. I wanted to say something, but I do not know what - what I can say.” Was this how it was, trying to comfort people? How did Gamora do this for these people for so long? The uncertainty of the terrain was infuriating. Some part of Nebula wished there was someone she could attack for Tony, to help him in that way. 

But then, maybe Nebula just wished there was someone she could attack for her own pain.

Tony just laughed, and from his face she did not think he meant it to come out as sharply as it did. “That’s - it’s fine. You don’t have to say anything. I know what you mean. I’m awful at saying stuff, always have been.” 

“You can say that again.” Rocket emerged from the maintenance hatch with grease streaked through his fur, and a disgruntled look on his face. 

“I don’t think I will,” Tony shot back, though he still wore that cynical little smile, and it softened his words. 

“Because you’d be bad at it?” 

“You’re not very funny,” Tony said, and Rocket rolled his eyes. 

“You know, that’s where Quill used to sit.” Nebula tried to catch Rocket’s gaze when he spoke, but he was staring intently at Tony. At the ghost of the man who used to sit where Tony was. “That was Quill’s seat, and that one was mine, and that one was Drax’s -” He seemed to cut himself off, dropping his paw to hang loose at his side. It seemed pointing out the layout of their crew had become useless somewhere halfway through his thought, and he had given up on it. Nebula had been trying to find some sense of loss in his voice, but the cough he used to silence himself told her enough. “We flew through fuckin’ asteroid fields and dying star systems and a whole load of other bullshit in this thing, sitting right here.”

Tony just raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Rocket hauled himself up into the seat across from Tony’s - across from Quill’s. He put his paw on the dashboard, next to a small flower pot. “And we survived all of that shit. So we’re gonna survive this. Somehow, we’re gonna have to.”

* * *

It was not until it had to hurtle through the Terran atmosphere that the Milano began to break down. It had held together admirably on the long journey there, but as it heated up during its landing, Nebula watched as the panelling shook and crumpled in on itself. She gripped Tony by the shoulders, keeping him secure in the captain’s chair while she and Rocket tried to stay on their feet through the intense turbulence. 

The moment the Milano touched down on Terra, Rocket was sprinting through the docking portal and onto the grass, blaster in hand; but Nebula was beginning to think that a blaster that size would be of little to no use against a force like this. 

“Who the hell are you?!” Rocket demanded, aiming directly between the figure’s eyes. “And what do you want?!” 

“Rocket!” Nebula hissed, coming slowly down the docking portal with Tony’s arm slung around her shoulders. “Stop that!” He tried to keep up, but he moved bonelessly, and his feet were off the ground more than they were on it.

“What, you know this chick?” Rocket said, not lowering his weapon. 

_The light was blinding, glorious; Nebula had to shield her eyes to look out the window of the cockpit, squinting against the brightness. She could just make out the figure of a woman, her hair floating around her head like a halo, her entire body glowing with the energy of a star._

_“What the hell . . .” Rocket murmured next to her. Nebula glanced down, and saw he still had Tony’s face held in his tiny paws. Tony’s eyes were still closed, his face slack. Fear for her friend and fear of this new figure fought viciously in Nebula’s brain._

_The figure outside their ship reached out an arm, and a beam of energy curved around the Milano in tandem. It seemed to cradle it, carefully adjusting to keep it pinned to the glowing aura that surrounded this mysterious figure. As the figure began to move, slowly drifting backwards as though testing out this new position, the Milano moved with them._

_“Oh hell no!” Rocket dropped from Tony’s seat and scrambled to drag a blaster out of a weapons crate in the cockpit (Nebula noticed he kept one in nearly every section of the ship, but had not yet asked why.) He pointed it at the glass that separated them from the figure, and all movement halted immediately._

“I know that she brought us to Terra!” Nebula hissed; as she reached Rocket’s side, she let Tony lower himself to the grass to rest his back against the side of her leg. He was panting, and his skin had a terribly pallid sheen. “And that she was strong enough to fly through open space without a suit, and _carry_ our entire ship here!” 

“I also,” the woman interjected, “didn’t blow you up when you pointed that thing at me last time. So.” 

_“Don’t shoot through the glass, you’ll kill us, too!” Nebula snapped, her voice thin with sudden stress. After so long stranded with no clear objectives, she had thought a good fight or two would make her feel more in control. Instead, the opportunity for one just threw her back to the battlefield on Vormir: an opponent she could not defeat, while she stood next to people she could not protect._

  
  
Nebula watched warily as she approached their weary trio; though she had asked Rocket to stand down, she still did not trust this stranger. No one with that much power seemed trustworthy to Nebula. 

The woman gave them a wry smile as she stepped closer, both her hands raised in a casual but clear sign of defense. “Look, I should tell you that something _that_ big -” the way she eyed Rocket’s blaster made Nebula squirm, the sheer _insignificance_ of their weapons striking her all over again, “- isn’t gonna do much to me. But it might hurt, and I really don’t wanna deal with that. So if you put that down, then I promise not to wipe you off the face of the Earth. Sound fair?” 

Rocket, scowling, let the tip of his blaster hit the ground next to him. He kept his paw on the trigger, though, and did not look away from the woman. For her part, she dropped her hands almost immediately and gave them both a satisfied nod. 

“We’re in New York,” the woman said, as if that clarified anything. But, though Nebula and Rocket both shrugged, Nebula felt Tony stir against her leg. She squatted down and put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him slightly as he tried to blink himself awake. 

“. . . York?” Tony murmured, shaking his head slightly as he stared up around them. It was nighttime, and their surroundings were cloaked in darkness; Nebula knew he would not see enough with his weak Terran vision. His confusion was palpable. “Fuck.” 

“Is that . . . is _that_ Tony Stark?” The woman asked, frowning as she came closer. Rocket moved to raise his blaster again, but she just shoved it aside as she came to kneel next to him. “Holy shit, it is.” 

“You know him?” Nebula asked, mirroring her frown. How could . . .? “Are you Terran?” 

The woman nodded, snapping her fingers just in front of Tony’s nose. “Yeah, I guess, Earthling or whatever - Tony? Can you hear me?” 

Tony pushed at her snapping with a weak hand, and Nebula shooed her away from his face. He groaned, looking up at the woman, and said, “Uh, yeah? Have we met?” 

The woman snorted. “No, we haven’t - you were taking over Stark Industries when I left Earth. I was sent to rescue you.” 

Rocket scoffed at her use of the word ‘rescue’, but Nebula could find nothing in it to dispute. If this woman had not brought them to Terra, there was no way they would have survived; Tony certainly would have died. 

“Steve Rogers sent me.” She paused, frowning. “Which is crazy, by the way.” 

“ _That’s_ what’s crazy to you?” Tony muttered, and the woman laughed again.

“Tony?” Nebula and Rocket both snapped to attention, Rocket’s blaster going up once again. The darkness pressed in around them, making it hard to see even with the illumination of their sparking, broken ship. The only thing Nebula could make out was a broad, low building in the distance, all its lights on like tiny rectangles glowing in mid-air. 

A figure emerged from the darkness, flashlight in hand and swinging its beam wildly from person to person in their small, odd group. Tony looked up, frowning deeply, and then burst into movement. He hurried forward, trying to stand, but collapsed against the grass. Nebula scooped him up under the arms, lifting him up, and was surprised to see the sudden hopeful smile that had split apart the mask of dread he had worn for so many days. 

“Pepper,” he said, softly enough that Nebula was not sure if he had meant to say it aloud.

A Terran woman came running forwards, flashlight dropping to the grass to throw her arms around Tony. It plunged them back into dimness, and Nebula felt this woman take on the weight of Tony’s mostly-prone body as she held him. She could just hear her whispering to him, words trembling, “I thought you were dead, I _really_ thought you were dead this time, oh my _fucking_ god, don’t ever do that again -” 

Nebula took a sharp step away from them, her face hot with the shame of such voyeurism, and returned to stand with Rocket as he argued with this other Terran woman - the Terran woman who could utilise the power of a star, it seemed. 

“- I just wanna know who the _fuck_ Steve Rogers is, who the _fuck_ you are, and why the _fuck_ you know the Nova Corps!” 

“I’m Carol Danvers,” she said. The calm in her voice took Nebula by surprise; despite the blaster and the swearing and the obvious contempt being hurled at her, she only looked down at Rocket with an odd sort of amusement. “And that is Steve Rogers.” 

Nebula and Rocket followed Carol’s pointed finger to see several more Terrans making their way across the grass towards their party; in the lead was a tall, imposing figure whose furrowed brow and clenched jaw came into focus as he marched into the light of the Milano’s wreckage, which was growing with every moment. 

“Danvers,” the man said, nodding at Carol. He moved like a soldier, all stiff efficiency. “Is he -?”

“What’s up, Rogers?” Tony’s voice, still a bit shaky, came from somewhere in that woman - Pepper’s - tight embrace. “Not sure if we were keeping score, but I’m beating you on going to space, 2-nil.” 

“Okay, and who the fuck are _these people_?!” Rocket demanded, gesturing wildly towards the new group. 

“We’re the Avengers,” Steve Rogers replied, as though this term meant anything to either of them. 

“The _what_?” 

“You’re the one who just crashed through our atmosphere, so I’d actually like to know who _you_ are,” snapped a Terran woman to Steve Rogers’ left side, blonde hair tied back severely and her arms crossed over her chest. 

“We only crashed through your atmosphere because _she_ -” Rocket now pointed to Carol, who gave him a lopsided smirk, “- hauled us over here across the goddamn _universe_ ! So what the _fuck_ -”

There was a tiny, shrieking sound that Nebula winced upon hearing, clapping a palm to her right ear, and then the cockpit of the Milano burst into flame. 

Everyone yelled, and Carol slammed a shield of energy against the ship to push it away from their group. It had not entirely exploded, but the damage done was so bad that Nebula could see the fight begin to drain out of Rocket. All his work in that maintenance hatch, all for nothing. 

As the Milano burned on a lawn on Terra, Nebula and Rocket had finally lost the last piece of the Guardians of the Galaxy.

“. . . Did that raccoon say ‘fuck’?” 

* * *

“Rocket, could you give that a rest?”

“I’m working on something so badass it’ll blow up moons, and you want me to _give it a rest_?” 

“Since I’d like to get to see tomorrow, yes, I really would.” 

Rocket grumbled to himself, but chucked the tangle of wires and the half-assembled circuit board into a bin and gently kicked it underneath the table in the common area. Danvers, flipping through yet another Nova Corps report at the table, went back to her work. He knew she didn’t mean anything by it, but forcing him to just sit on his hands in transit was one of the worst things Danvers could do. He needed to _do_ something, or he would go insane. 

“You know, if you want you could help me read through these,” Danvers said without looking up from the tablet, and Rocket groaned dramatically. 

“Ugh, god no. Those people are un-fucking-bearable, I don’t wanna deal with their bureaucratic shit anymore than I have to.” 

“This bureaucratic shit is what gives us the freedom to do our job,” Danvers replied easily. There was a kind of casual authority she always seemed to carry with her, and she ordered him around in a way that Rocket found oddly more compelling than Quill’s attempts. Danvers oozed power and Rocket, like it or not, found power interesting. The spite and sarcasm she dished out definitely helped matters, as did her ability to shoot the energy of a fucking supernova out of her hands. 

But now he was thinking about Quill again, which made him think about Quill arguing with Drax again, which made him think about Drax carefully tucking a recently-reincarnated Groot in a makeshift blanket of old socks, which made him think about Groot drifting as ashes on the wind, and now he _really really_ needed to do something. 

“Okay, fine, gimme one of the stupid files,” he said, hauling himself up onto a chair at the table. Danvers flicked the screen of her tablet with a flourish before returning to her reading, and Rocket opened up the file on another tablet. 

“I just don’t see why we can’t just go around doing -”

“- whatever we want?” Danvers interrupted him with raised eyebrows. She was looking up from her precious files now, and the disbelieving gaze she had trained on him made Rocket’s stomach squirm uncomfortably. “Because if we start doing what we want, we lose the allyship of -”

“- the Nova Corps? But they’re a bunch of idiots, we don’t need them.”

“I was going to say the Ravagers,” Danvers finished with a laugh. “But yeah, the Nova Corps wouldn’t be thrilled, either. We need to follow the treaties, because if we don’t the entire galaxy collapses, got it?” 

“We used to -”

“Things aren’t what they used to be.” Danvers didn’t look happy to remind him, and Rocket wasn’t happy to hear it. “We don’t have the luxury of doing whatever we want anymore. I miss it, too, but it is what it is.” 

“Is that what the Earth military taught you?” 

Danvers scowled, though it didn’t seem directed at him. “Trust me, you don’t wanna know what they taught me.” 

“Then maybe you could enlighten me on what the Kree taught you, because I’ve been thinking -”

“Not talking about that, either.” Danvers had returned to her tablet, and Rocket could see her expression begin to shut him out. He had tread on something less than funny, and he felt a jagged spike of shame in his gut. Goddamn Groot and Quill and all of them for making him susceptible to shit like that. 

“Look -” Rocket started, already regretting opening his mouth. Apologies should be reserved to actual mistakes, like near-deaths. “I didn’t - I mean - I’m just bored.”

“I know,” Carol said after a minute. “I am, too, for now. But if we don’t stick it out through the boring stuff, then there won’t be a galaxy to have fun stuff in.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Rocket said with a sigh. “But not all of us are Captain freakin’ Marvel.” 

Carol just laughed, and that alleviated the feeling in Rocket’s gut. 

_“Captain fuckin’ Marvel?” Rocket echoed. For the first time since meeting her, he wasn’t glaring at this Danvers woman. Between her admission and the insignia on her suit, he couldn’t stop staring up at her in semi-awe. “Seriously?”_

_“What, you’ve heard of me?” Danvers quipped with a smirk._

_“You - holy shit. Nebula, don’t tell her who you used to work for,” Rocket said before he could stop himself. Danvers’ gaze snapped to Nebula, who had been lurking in the corner of the Avengers’ meeting room, fiddling with her forearm panel. He was sure they’d fixed that by day three of their isolation in the ship, but he wondered if maybe it was a bad habit of hers, like running your tongue over a split lip or picking at a scab._

_“Who did you work for?” Danvers asked._

_Nebula shrugged, glaring at Rocket. “I think he means Ronan, which . . . was a long time ago. And was also mostly to get back at my father.”_

_“And by ‘get back at her father’, she means kill him,” Rocket added. Nebula glared harder; maybe she had a mod for that._

_“Oh.” Danvers nodded slowly, regarding Nebula. “Huh. Sounds healthy.”_

An alert signalling the opening of the ship’s docking portal flashed across the screen that hovered on the wall of the common area, and Danvers and Rocket both slid out of their seats to go meet their third ally as she stepped back inside the safety of the Milano.

Nebula was trying to scrub soot stains out of her suit as she exited her pod, and she frowned at them both as they moved to check her for injuries; it had almost become instinctive after months of working together. 

“They had explosives.”

“Jesus - did they take out any locals?” Danvers asked.

Nebula regarded her flatly. “No.” Rocket didn’t miss the slight smugness glimmering in her wide black eyes as she continued. “They found their way onto his ship instead. Out in the country, no one else around for miles.” 

“And this is why we let you do stealth missions by yourself,” Danvers said approvingly, clapping Nebula on the shoulder. Rocket noticed that this time, Nebula didn’t flinch. 

“Lemme guess,” Rocket said sarcastically as the three of them traipsed into the Milano’s common area, Nebula already peeling off the outer layer of her destroyed suit. “She’s gonna get out of desk duty, isn’t she?” 

Danvers just winked at him. 

* * *

  
  
“A Ravager, a Nova Corps officer, and an assassin walk into a bar . . .”

“We aren’t in a bar,” Nebula said, though her mouth twitched against her better judgement. She knew Rocket would spot any shred of amusement and cling to it, and they could not afford to have him ruining this diplomatic meeting with another awful joke. “And you forgot the cybernetic raccoon.”

“And the Terran woman who swallowed a jet engine,” Rocket added. 

Nebula saw Carol, on Rocket’s left side at the table, press a smile into the back of her hand, and try to play it off as though she was wiping her mouth. Carol caught Nebula’s eye over Rocket’s head, and the Terran woman winked at her. 

“Hate it when you do that,” Rocket hissed, looking between the two women. “I’m sitting right here!”

“We know, Rocket, you’re still in on the joke,” Carol said, mockingly placating, giving Rocket’s small shoulder a pat. He jerked away from her, though it was half-hearted. 

“You expect even a _bit_ of respect around here . . .” 

The three of them snapped to attention as the doors of the grand meeting room in Nova Corps headquarters swung open, revealing a small fleet of Nova Corps officers and directors. At the center of their group marched the recently-elected Nova Prime Eve Bakian, who had shot up from Centurion to Nova Prime in a matter of months following the fall of the original Nova Corps. She stood tall and straight-backed, commanding the respect of her comrades despite her worn uniform and the fresh set of bruises marking the left side of her face. She took her seat across from their team, and everyone around her fell into place. 

“You look like hell,” Rocket said conversationally. 

Bakian’s mouth curled up, though the smirk did not reach her eyes. “Thank you. I promise the other guy looks worse.” 

“And the other guy was . . .?” Carol asked. 

Bakian’s gaze flashed to her. “The slave trafficker from the Kree colony near Psori. The report on our rendezvous was sent to you yesterday morning.” 

“The one enslaving Druffs?” 

“Yes. Well, he _was_ enslaving Druffs. Now he’s in the holding cell of the Skrull outpost in that region, awaiting trial.” 

“Nice.” Carol and Bakian watched each other for a long moment, both women wearing twin smirks. Nebula was always reminded of lionesses sizing one another up whenever these two met. 

“I, uh, I also have a report to discuss.” 

Every eye in the room turned on Kraglin, who fidgeted with the printed papers in front of him. Behind him, on a small screen held up by his Ravager partner, Aleta Ogood clicked her tongue impatiently. This seemed to spur Kraglin on, as he quickly launched into a summary of their team’s investigation of a series of attacks on distant Nova Corps outposts, stealing their supplies and burning them to the ground. 

“We think we can handle this one alone,” Aleta cut in as Kraglin finished reading from his papers. “It’s likely a small team of bandits simply taking advantage of the chaos. Strakar and his team will be available as backup should we need it.” 

Nebula had been surprised at first to discover how willing the Ravagers were to cooperate with the Nova Corps and their trio. Perhaps it was the change in leadership: Bakian was, for better or worse, a very different woman than the one she had replaced. Perhaps it was simply desperation, as the confusion and utter collapse that had followed Thanos’ snap had left the Ravagers with little control over their sphere of influence. Nebula’s very private theory was that Kraglin had talked them into it somehow. Though looking at him there, shuffling his papers and looking a bit nervously at Carol, it was difficult to picture him giving any rousing speeches, Nebula had seen the way his face contorted when she and Rocket had delivered the news of Quill’s passing. Knowing what she knew now of loss, Nebula would not be entirely surprised to find out that Kraglin had been instrumental in securing the Ravager alliance. After all, this was perhaps the only thing left of Thanos for any of them to fight: his legacy. 

“That’ll be fine,” Bakian said with a sharp nod, mostly towards Aleta. “Just send an update once you reach that star system and once you leave, so we know who is and isn’t dead.” 

There was the barest hint of a smile on Aleta’s face as she gave a quick salute and ended her call. 

The meeting ended not long after that with Carol accepting a new set of prioritized missions from Bakian. Nebula watched the two women exchange the most intense handshake she had ever seen, and then the two of them were laughing as they swept out of the high-ceilinged boardroom as though they had been friends for years. There was something about these military types that facilitated that, Nebula thought. It certainly was not the predisposition of assassins. 

They waved goodbye as they boarded the Milano, Rocket grumbling about “taking too long” and “gonna have to leave now if we wanna get to that system by next week.” Nebula leaned back in Gamora’s old seat in the cockpit, watching the blackness of space blanket the view outside the ship as they left the atmosphere. 

An alert popped up on the communications screen in the cockpit, asking for permission to connect a call. Rocket glanced up at her, brow raised, and Carol mimicked the expression as she slid into her seat next to Rocket. 

“Let it through, I guess,” Carol said with a shrug. 

As Nebula affirmed the call, a familiar face appeared on their screen: Natasha Romanoff, her hair returned to vivid ginger and her eyes intent as she stared them down through the call. 

“Earth to Guardians,” Natasha said, giving the screen a lazy salute. “How’re things going up there?” 

“Could be worse.” 

“We got to blow something up last week, so pretty good.”

“War has not broken out.” 

Natasha eyed the three of them as she digested their simultaneous answers, and Nebula could see her jaw working to dispel a reluctant smile. “God, sometimes I miss this kind of bullshit.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carol said airily. “We’re completely professional and incredibly organized.” 

“You’ve been out of the army for too long, Danvers,” Natasha replied easily. 

“Is something wrong on Earth?” Nebula asked, interrupting their banter; she had seen how long these two could carry on. Natasha had a way of coaxing out the childish humour in people, especially people like Carol and Steve Rogers. 

Natasha’s amusement evaporated, and shook her head. “No, not . . . no. We’re fine.” No one was really fine, but this was an acceptable lie for all of them to indulge in once in a while. “But Steve has . . . well, _we_ have an idea. It would be insane, and probably won’t work, and might get all of us killed.”

“So an average Tuesday for you guys,” Rocket said. When Natasha did not quip back, Nebula felt her stomach tighten in concern. 

“We think we can reverse the snap.” 

* * *

The New York base of operations was alive with the buzzing of Avengers catching up with one another, and all Nebula could think to do was skulk in the yard outside. 

Rocket was not much better: he had made a beeline straight for the lab the second their ship touched Terran ground, calling something at her about “Tony needing guidance” and “showing them how _real_ explosives work” that Nebula had not bothered to follow up on. She had just meandered her way to the idyllic, gently sloping lawns of the estate around the back, where someone had built a tiny court for a Terran sport and a miniscule garden that did not see much tending, it seemed. 

They had made a memorial. 

It was far enough away from the actual headquarters to be open to the public, and Nebula knew it was a bit of a tourist attraction because Natasha and Steve had both told her as much when it was erected. The idea of strangers coming to pay their respects at her sister’s memorial made Nebula want to rip something apart. 

The grey slab was a depressing landmark, enormous and ugly, the names of those who fell in battle against Thanos engraved on it. The letters were very small. Nebula had tried to read it once, curious about those who died alongside her sister and the other Guardians; but she had not gotten past the first column before walking away, a pit twisting up her stomach. Tony had nodded at her as she made her escape, and she knew he understood. He had seen her sister fall, just as she had seen the young spider-boy wisp away in Tony’s arms. It was easier to share a loss with someone already grieving than with those who had never laid eyes on Gamora. 

And, of course, this was not Gamora’s grave. 

_“You’re sure you want to do this?” Carol always seemed hesitant to talk about what had happened on Vormir, or about the real consequences of the snap. Not the political ramifications - they spent nearly every day discussing those, and how to solve them. The tangible losses, however, remained off-limits for discussion aboard the Milano._

_Nebula just nodded, turning to look out the cockpit shield at the oncoming moon. It was angled in just the right way to reflect the light of the three stars surrounding it, casting their ship in a rosy-silver light. Nebula was secretly glad that some part of Zen Whoberi’s star system was still beautiful._

_The moon orbiting Zen Whoberi seemed as good a place as any to bury their friends. Nebula could not bring herself to let her sister rest on the planet’s surface; though she had heard it was overgrown with lush native vegetation, the idea of the crumbling empty cities of Gamora’s homeworld made something very small and very old ache inside Nebula’s chest._

_Her homeworld had none of this beauty left to it, she was certain of that._

_The landing was smooth, and they exited the ship without any accidents. Hauling all these supplies to the shadow of a massive cliffside in the rock took time, but today that was something Nebula and Rocket were willing to give themselves in abundance. Carol followed in polite silence, carrying her share of the supplies without complaint._

_The shrines were assembled in a jumble of traditions. Kylosian funeral rites were difficult without a body, but one of Drax’s swords was still on the Milano after the snap. Rocket sliced it into the rock, and it stood proudly._

_“He was meant to be buried with it,” Rocket had tried to explain to Carol. “It’s a - it’s a weird thing with them, their weapons and shit. I dunno.”_

_The shrines themselves were a Zen Whoberi tradition. It was a practice they had shared with multiple peoples across this corner of the galaxy, and Nebula remembered finding the remains of shrines on other cleaved planets during Thanos’ campaigns, built with Zen Whoberi artifacts and tokens, bearing the names of Gamora’s people. Thanos had had them destroyed before Gamora was ever permitted to reach the ground of those planets._

_Rocket and Nebula had carefully cultivated seeds for Groot’s, of little spores that had grown so ugly they almost looped around to being cute again. Though neither of them had spoken about it, there was an implicit understanding that_ we will be back for these. We will return here, and we will water them. _Quill’s mixtapes and some old Terran relics - Carol had been thrilled to discover an old ticket for a movie called “Die Hard” - they had found tucked into a protected drawer in the very back of the ship, where the vessel (and its contents) had sustained the least damage. Gamora’s personal effects had been stored in the same spot: a few old throwing knives, a timeworn shirt. Nebula knew her sister had kept few trinkets, but something about the barrenness of her drawer made her heart twist in discomfort._

_Nebula had made the tokens. She had seen them on those shrines so many years ago, and tried to recreate them from memory - traditions were difficult to get exactly right when the memory of them had been wrenched from the living universe. She had carefully penned old sigils into them, and though they became unreadable as they fluttered in the odd winds of this moon, Nebula and Rocket knew what they said: apologies. Goodbyes. Promises. She had cut them out of fabric she traded for on their last stop to see Nova Prime; it was a familiar shade of deep green, and reminded Nebula of lush forests. The arid planets around this star system had likened such greenery to blessed miracles, and the thought tightened her throat as she gently tied her sister’s token to her shrine post._

_Gamora deserved a miracle._

* * *

Nebula’s voice was steady as she addressed the Avengers who had assembled, even as she spat out her father’s name. 

“And you’re sure you want to go after the Stone in his corner of the universe?” Steve asked, that noble pinch of concern between his brows. “If you come face to face with Thanos -”

“Captain Rogers?” Nebula cut him off, a grim smile curling the corner of her mouth. “It would be my genuine pleasure.” 

“You’re so dramatic. Anyone ever tell you that?” Rocket said as they made their way out of the conference room, and Nebula’s face spasmed as she fought to keep her emotions under control. Rocket’s own face fell, his emotions loud enough to make Nebula want to scream. 

“Oh, right.” 

Nebula reached down to place a tentative hand on Rocket’s small, furry shoulder. “And they’re going to mock us relentlessly when they get back.”

She saw in his eyes that he knew exactly who “they” were, and knew it to be true.

“I can’t believe that was motivating, what the hell is wrong with us?” 

**Author's Note:**

> hi everybody, we've made it to part three!!! i hope you guys like nebula as much as i do bc i'm gonna keep delving into her character in this series lmao
> 
> i just thought that - and this isn't like an actual criticism, just a query - it was weird that nebula and rocket didn't seem to know who carol was?? bc she's a former kree soldier who broke from the ranks to successfully defend skrull refugees from the kree empire, and then went off to fight that same empire bc she's like a living supernova. everyone in their end of the galaxy has heard of captain marvel. (ronan definitely knew who she was, and probably used to bitch about her, and nebula used to roll her eyes when he wasn't looking.)
> 
> anyway i love these dudes, and i hope this was okay !!! i'm slowly building up to the actual time travel segment of endgame, catching up with everybody during the five years of post-snappage bc i'm sad we didn't get to see most of that. tysm for reading, sending love to all of you <3 <3 <3
> 
> hmu on tumblr if you'd like to yell @starmunches, or @mallowswriting if u want to read/request my drabbles/reader insert fics, or have any questions about this AU (bc the document for the lore alone is like twenty pages long now haha) <3 <3 <3


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